Invaluable Contribution
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Alternate Universe. *Felicity's night goes from bad to worse when a certain vigilante breaks into her car. But it doesn't take long for it to go from worse to surreal.* Yet another way Oliver and Felicity could have met, this time involving compromising situations and mint chocolate chip ice cream. Complete.


**Title: Invaluable Contribution  
>Word Count: 5037<strong>

**Notes:** I JUST WANT TO LET YOU KNOW THAT THIS IS THE STRANGEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. I have no idea what happened, but I had an idea playing around in my head, and this was the end result. It's been sitting in my Drive, completed, for about a month, but I think it's time to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. ;) So yeah, I thank you in advance for taking the time to read this insanity if you're so kind. If you want to back away and pretend you never saw this, I totally get it. :P Any reviews/comments are appreciated, but if I get any hits at all, I appreciate it. ;)

* * *

><p>Felicity just wants to head home after a <em>very<em>, _very_ long night. The servers crashed earlier, and it was all hands on deck, and now both her brain and her body are exhausted, one from complex code and the other from crawling around in server closets. What she needs is a nice night at home, an escape from reality for just a few moments before she returns to the job she usually loves, bright and early tomorrow morning.

She sinks into the driver's seat of the car, sighing deeply before turning on the engine. She haphazardly closes the door and throws her purse over into the passenger seat, preparing for the traffic-ridden drive back home. She adjusts the seat to relax a little because her back hurts, reaches an arm to adjust the rearview mirror, but it never makes it.

A hand grips over her mouth instead.

She tries to scream, but a synthetic, unnaturally deep voice says, "I'm not going to hurt you." It's slow and precise, coming from over her right shoulder. She looks down at the glove instead, to find that his left hand is twisting at an odd angle to cover her mouth. He crouches in the darkness at the opposite end of the back seat, twisting as far away from her as the small space will allow. The glove on her mouth, she notices, is green. Immediately, she knows who he is.

_The Vigilante_.

Her panic must show on her face because he continues, "I don't want to hurt you, I don't want your money or your car. You're safe." The way he repeats it makes her think he might be trying to convince himself as much as her. "I'm going to remove my hand, but if you open your mouth, I'll have to render you unconscious. If you understand, nod once." She does immediately and, true to his word, he releases her. "Good. Now, what is your name?"

The word tumbles out, the stutter caused by equal parts intrigue and nervousness. The fear has abated now that she's knows he's true to his word. "Felicity," she finally says. Lying doesn't seem like an option, especially since he's been honest to her so far. "Felicity Smoak."

"Felicity," he says gently, pulling back, scrambling into the opposite corner of the car, "I need your help."

She turns to face him, sees the bloodstain that's steadily growing across his chest, pouring from a spot just above his heart. "You're bleeding!" she blurts, and she reaches out against her own better judgment, her first instinct to examine it.

"Stay back," he immediately warns her, a tinge of panic in her voice, and her hand freezes in midair before she snatches it back. Something tells her that it's of her best interests to do as he says. Calmer this time, he adds, "I need you to take me to the abandoned Queen factory in the Glades."

"No, you need a doctor," she insists. "That's a lot of blood. You're going to be dead if we don't get you to a hospital."

"_No!_" is his immediate reaction, and she jumps. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Felicity, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

She hesitates because she's not sure if she can. He's different than she expected, as far as the Vigilante goes, but that doesn't necessarily make him trustworthy. It _certainly_ doesn't make her trust him, either. She knows the smart thing to do would be to leave the car and run, but somehow she already feels too involved.

She means to decline, but what manages to come out is, "Yes."

* * *

><p>He's near death by the time they arrive at the location, but he insists that he doesn't need her help. If she were guessing, she'd almost say he was more afraid of her than she of him, though she has no idea why. Under different circumstances, it would be funny, but, for now, there's too much going on for funny.<p>

She walks into the lair behind him, and her eyes immediately take in the industrial architecture, the training mats in the back, the salmon ladder in the corner, and the lone, horrible computer system in the middle that makes her heart hurt. Off to the side is a small couch, and she can see a cot in the back, as if someone makes a habit of sleeping here.

A man lingers over the computer, turning when he hears Felicity's heels clicking against the concrete floors. His face turns down in disapproval. "Who is she?" he asks instantly. "What are you doing, bringing her here?"

He pulls back the hood, and Felicity gasps when she recognizes his features. And how _couldn't_ she recognize him, when all of Starling City has been staring at his pretty face _daily_ since he miraculously returned home after five years on an uncharted island? Still, Oliver Queen is the last thing she expected under that hood. He's taller than she expects, and the photographs don't do him justice. His eyes are a little bluer and his face a little more gaunt, but it's still a face worthy of all the screaming and fangirling by every female in Starling City—perhaps with the exception of Felicity herself.

Oliver winces as he sits down on the gurney, a hand pressed against the wound in his shoulder. "Digg, this is Felicity Smoak. She kept me from being cornered when things went wrong with my mother." Felicity can only gape like a fish at that; she hadn't connected it before, but _he was shot by his own mother_. "Felicity, this is John Diggle, a friend." He motions to the other man. "I need a blood bag. Toss it—my control is a little frayed as it is."

Diggle pulls a pack of blood from the drawer of a nearby mini-fridge, then casts a loaded look at Oliver before tossing him the blood packet. "You sure you want her here for this, Oliver?" he asks, staring at Felicity out of the corner of his eye.

Oliver's look is expressionless. "She had the opportunity to turn me in, Diggle," he says, his words loaded with something. "She could have screamed or ran, but she didn't. She chose to help me, and I trust her."

"_She_ has a name," Felicity snaps, and both sets of eyes land on her. It causes her to blush, and Oliver's back stiffens before he turns his head away. "You pulled me into this, Oliver," she continues, "and I'm going to see it through."

She doesn't know what causes the sudden uproar; she'd been ambivalent on the subject until now. But the thought of going back to a normal day now just sounds silly. She wanted a break from reality, and now she has one; nothing can be more surreal than Oliver Queen in the green Vigilante suit, bleeding from a gaping hole over his heart that he doesn't seem to be concerned about.

It seems to satisfy Diggle's concerns, and he turns back to the fridge. "This is our last pack."

Oliver frowns. "It's not going to be enough," he says in a loaded tone. "Can you make a run by yourself?" Felicity has no idea what they're talking about, and, though she wants to know, something keeps her from asking—self-preservation, perhaps.

"Yeah, no problem," is Diggle's reply, and then he turns to Felicity before throwing the bag of blood to Oliver. "You may want to turn your head for this one, Felicity." With that, he pulls on his coat and starts to leave. "It might take me a while."

She's about to ask why she'd want to turn her head when Oliver bites into the bag. She sees a flash of teeth—very long, enlarged canine teeth—and then the bag starts draining slowly. Suddenly the exchange in the car makes sense, even if it's a little surreal. It's hard to believe what she's seeing, but she's awake and she's pretty sure she isn't hallucinating.

Felicity scrambles over to the desk chair, sitting down in it before her legs can collapse under her. Oliver watches her with a carefully neutral expression, and she starts doing what she does best: babbling. "Okay, yeah, now I get it. Why didn't you tell me?" This time he raises an eyebrow, and she turns crimson. "Stupid question—I wouldn't have believed you." She changes tacks. "So, is it just you, or is the Queen family full of vampires?" She laughs a little hysterically as she finds a parallel. "I mean, like the same way the British royal family is comprised of werewolves?" She smacks a palm against her forehead. "I really need to stop watching sci-fi television shows—it isn't good for my imagination."

He finally decides to say something, eyes focusing on the flush across her cheekbones before pulling away. She realizes she might be tempting fate a little. "They did this to us on the island," he answers slowly, as if trying to determine how terrified she is of him. "I'm the last one left." There's a lot of pain there, and, she figures it was some sort of experiment or torture, with the way he says _they did this to us_.

She bites her lower lip, and his eyes focus on the movement. "Don't do that," he says, a little sharply, and she does as he asks as a knee-jerk reaction, her eyes going wide at the sudden demand. "The weaker I am," he explains carefully, sounding almost apologetic, "the easier it is to tempt me."

She understands immediately, and it sends a thrill of fear down her spine. Placing a hand to her forehead, she mutters, "Okay, wow, this is real." It earns her a tentative smile, one that doesn't involve teeth, and Felicity thinks there might be a reason for that. "I have to admit, I was kind of hoping it wasn't. Because I'm going to be up all night thinking about this. And I'll _definitely_ need that gallon of mint chocolate chip after this." He looks at her and she frowns. "Don't judge me—I stress-eat. And I also stress-watch 'Blink,' but I think I've had enough horror-movie-style suspense for one night." She frowns, thinking about it, then snorts instantly as the next burst of inspiration hits. "Okay, I might watch 'The Vampires of Venice' again, just for joke content later."

He doesn't say anything, but a corner of his mouth turns up. "And I've been babbling. Again," she adds, and then she decides it's time to ask another question. "So, you two rob blood banks?" She hesitates. "Can you… _feed_ on an actual person?"

He pulls the bag away for a moment, clearly thinking of a way to answer her question. Finally, he settles on, "I don't pull from live donors—there's too much risk." He hesitates. "But we can, if we want to. I… had a friend who kept a human donor, but I've never used one." He frowns. "There's not as high a risk to the donor when the feeder is experienced, but I've never seen the point in taking those first, initial risks."

He frowns as he stares at the almost-empty bag, tossing it to the side to unzip his jacket. Felicity's eyes might study him a little too intensely, landing on both scars new and old, as well as a tattoo of a pointed star just under the wound. It doesn't look any better, and blood still streams out of it. Oliver picks up a towel, frowning as he presses it against the wound. His eyes bore into hers, and he answers the question there. "It isn't enough—I'll have to wait for Diggle." He bites into the end the bag again, attempting to finish it off.

"Or," Felicity starts slowly, and she can't believe where she's going with it, "you could use what you already have at your disposal." She waits without a clue of how he'll respond, unsure if he'll say yes or no.

What she doesn't expect is for him to bite through the end of the bag, spitting it out onto the table. "_No_," he says flatly, and his eyebrows narrow together almost as if he's _angry_ at her for suggesting it. "There's a _risk_, Felicity," he repeats. "I'm not going to put you in danger. I'll just have to wait for Diggle."

She shakes her head, knowing he probably doesn't have that long. "You know you need blood faster than that," she tries. She's just started this adventure with him and Diggle, and she's not going to let it end so easily.

He shrugs, as if it's completely irrelevant to their conversation. "It doesn't matter," he says finally. "If Diggle makes it back in time, fine. If not…" He hesitates. "Desperation has forced me to make a lot of terrible decisions, but this won't be one of them."

Blood continues to pour from the spot, and she decides it's time to play dirty. She rises from her seat, walking over to him. He tenses immediately, probably recognizing her game, but he doesn't move. "Oliver," she says gently, reaching out to touch his bloodstained hand that he's been pressing against his shoulder all night. He almost looks as if her close proximity causes him pain. "I can tell you won't be able to wait." Taking a risk, she presses his fingers against her neck, and he stiffens, closing his eyes. Finally his hand cups her neck, and she knows he's giving in. "It's okay."

His eyes snap open, and she can see the defeat there. Instead of saying anything, he jumps down from the table, placing his hands between her shoulder blades as he leads her toward a doorway. Suddenly hesitant, she asks, "Where are we going?"

He opens the doorway to a small bathroom, complete with shower. The sink is on a long counter, and she thinks he must have paid a fortune for this because the fixtures all spout name brands. He ushers her through the door as he responds, "I don't want Digg to walk in on this and jump to the wrong conclusion."

She hesitates because it all feels too real now that she's actually doing it. "I'm going to need a rundown of the mechanics of this," she says finally. "This might surprise you, but I've never fed a vampire before."

He chuckles, but there's no humor in the sound. "It doesn't." He hesitates. "When we… pull from a donor, it's an exchange of fluids." Felicity tenses because that doesn't sound good _at all_. "Vampire teeth are enlarged because they store a serum." He hesitates again. "It's similar to how snakes store venom, but our mixture isn't a poison. There's an anticoagulant to prevent clotting, a compound that creates a sense of… euphoria, and a pheromone that's unique to each of us."

He watches her expression carefully. "If you'd been a live donor before, I would be able to smell it on you. And, if you still want to do this, I'll leave my pheromone in your blood, and any vampire will be able to recognize you as _my_ live donor." There's a surprising level of possessiveness in that word. "There aren't any vampires in Starling City right now, but I don't know how many others he created on the island. The other two I knew are dead, but that doesn't mean there aren't more out there. There's more than one risk in this, Felicity—especially since I've never done this before, either."

She hesitates. "So, this… euphoria," she starts carefully, "I'm not going to do anything ridiculous, am I? Because if I'm going to act drunk or make inappropriate noises, I need to swear you to secrecy first."

He chuckles, seeming to appreciate her attempt at humor. "Nothing like that," he assures her, though he doesn't seem quite sure. "She said it was like a high, but I don't know if that varies based on vampire or human. But the one live donor I've seen seemed to have a clear head afterward. It's just… _during_ the pull that you're affected." He sees the hesitation in her eyes. "You don't have to do this, Felicity."

"Tell me what you need me to do," she says after a long moment, making sure he knows that she's taking this seriously, thinking about every risk and then choosing to take them anyway

"I need you to sit on the counter and try not to move," he answers. "Do you think you can do that?" She nods once, and he leans closer, his eyes only inches from her own. "If you change your mind," he says slowly, carefully, "let me know." She nods, even though they both know that her mind is already firmly made up.

He motions to the counter behind her, and she lifts herself onto it. She's at the perfect height for Oliver to take advantage of the position—or would be, if nerves didn't cause her shoulders to curve inward. She almost likes that he doesn't offer words of comfort because they both know he has _no idea_ how this particular misadventure will end.

With very firm but gentle hands, he spreads her knees apart and stands between them. She flushes at the intimacy of it, then remembers how her blush seems to affect him in his weakened state. He doesn't notice, though, because his eyes remain firmly planted on the edge of the countertop. Finally, his eyes turn to hers, sinking lower as she _hopes_ that he's staring at her neck.

She decides that maybe he isn't when his fingers undo the first button on her shirt. Immediately, Felicity slaps at his hands. "What are you—?" she starts, but then trails off and turns crimson as he reaches to fold her collar over, ignoring her outburst. _Of course_. It seems to be by unspoken agreement that they're not going to talk about her blunder, and that suits her just fine.

His eyes lock with hers again as his fingers brush the ends of her ponytail away from the left side of her neck. Out of nervousness, she says again, her voice high, "Remember, you said you wouldn't hold my actions against me."

"Never," he agrees quietly, reaching his arm behind her head, cradling it gently. He ever so slowly tilts it to the side, arching her neck at an angle that she supposes is more conductive to what he's about to do. His other hand presses into the same shoulder, as if to pin her in place.

She closes her eyes then, and she expects fangs puncturing through skin any moment. Because of that, she tenses when he makes contact, but it's his mouth that touches her neck instead. A moment later, his tongue darts out to touch the area where her pulse throbs, and she hopes he can't hear her breath hitch when he does. She expected this to be clinical; a bite of the neck, some lightheadedness on her part, and maybe a little queasiness. Instead, it's something almost sensual, something far more intimate than she expects.

No wonder he's never done this before; it's almost _too_ personal.

Finally, his tongue draws back, and she feels two sharp points pressing against her throat. She expects the bite to be hard and unforgiving, but instead he slowly sinks his teeth further into her, and it's less painful than she's prepared for. Her knees lock low on his waist of their own accord, but it doesn't seem to bother him. There's an odd sensation, like an injection of something sinking into her artery, and then he pulls his teeth from her neck. And then he locks his mouth over her neck and starts to feed.

It's like nothing she's ever experienced before. He's right about the euphoria, though she thinks that _arousal_ might be closer to the truth. A low hum escapes her throat, and her legs lock behind him, pulling him closer by wrapping her left arm around his waist. Her right arm snakes up under his left, crossing to grip the opposite shoulder so tight she's probably leaving fingernail imprints in it.

Something happens as he drinks further, and the sense of euphoria gets a little heavier, a little darker. A moan leaves her mouth that she's not expecting, followed shortly by a sigh. Parts of her that's she's rarely aware of feel like they're on fire, and somehow that desire leaves her mouth in a half-whispered, half-moaned, "_Oliver_."

That's what it takes to break the spell. He immediately stops, running his tongue over the space one last time. When she's finally able to open her eyes, it's to the sight of Oliver turning concerned eyes over both her and the spot he drank from. "I pulled too much," he says, studying her closely, and she notices his hand has moved from the back to the side of her head.

It's not a question, but Felicity chooses to treat it as such. "No," she insists, a little breathlessly, her mouth suddenly a little sluggish. "No, it was fine. Good, even. Maybe even… _wow_." Her face heats as his eyebrows rise, and she wonders how she has enough blood left to pool at her cheeks. Then she realizes she hasn't let go of him yet, and her body musters up a little more blood to send to her face. "I just…" She tries to cover for herself, but she has to pause, breathless as if she's just ran five miles. "I just didn't expect it would be like _that_."

He moves out from between her legs, and she uses the opportunity to hop down from the counter and prevent making a further fool of herself. She wobbles when her feet touch the ground, and Oliver steadies her with a hand at her elbow. Her head spins for a moment, and she immediately reaches up to touch it, noticing her hairline is slick with cold sweat.

"I didn't, either," he answers finally, not exactly looking at her. Once he's sure she's steady, he releases her, dropping the jacket and pulling on a black t-shirt on. Then he takes a moment to watch her, reaching for a set of towels in the cabinet across from them. "A warm shower might help with the after-effects," he adds, then turns to another cabinet to pull out a t-shirt similar to the one he has on and a pair of gray sweatpants. "Use whatever you need."

She nods mutely because her head is still reeling, but he's not finished with her. He squeezes her upper arm gently. "And Felicity?" he calls, her eyes immediately shooting to his, though she can't quite focus on him. "Thank you." They're two words she hears often, but never are they as sincere as he is tonight.

With that, he leaves her to her shower.

* * *

><p>He's right about the shower. It helps her to get her focus back, and, by the time she exits the locker room-style bathroom, she already has her color back. Her wet hair was heavy, so she pulled it up into a somewhat messy bun at the back of her head, and she's in the clothes he brought her. They're a little big for her, but it makes them more comfortable than her work clothes, and the color doesn't rub against her neck, as an added bonus. She opts to go barefoot since her ability to stay standing in heels is somewhat questionable at this point; she hasn't quite gotten over the dizziness yet, and her head is still a little foggy.<p>

She spots the couch immediately, dropping onto it somewhat lazily. It takes her a moment to realize that Oliver isn't there. She frowns, looking around for something to do in their absence, since she's not quite sure on what her role is yet. Her eyes land on the purse that she didn't bring in with her, and she figures that's attributable to one of the two men—whichever one as the know-how to pick a lock, since her keys are still in the pocket of her trousers. She goes to it and pulls out the book she was reading over her lunch break, and she immerses herself back in the world of technology that extends a little _too_ far.

The door over the staircase slams shut, and she jumps as Oliver bounds down the stairs as though he _wasn't_ bleeding from a hole over his heart a few minutes ago. He has a charcoal hoodie pulled over his shirt and a brown bag in his hand, now wearing jeans instead of the green leathers he had on before. He stops abruptly as he studies her, and she tries to pretend she doesn't notice the way his eyes fall over her in a way she doesn't quite understand. Maybe even in a way _he_ doesn't understand, she supposes, since he's new to this, too.

He drops the paper bag next to her, dropping down in the desk chair pulled over by it. She chooses to ignore that he won't share the couch with her, attentions instead turning to the brown bag. Felicity can't hold back a squeal of delight when she sees the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She pulls it and the box of plastic spoons out of the bag before turning to him. "I babbled through the one mention of this—I didn't think you'd remember. Thank you."

He shrugs, as if the gratitude is foreign and he isn't quite sure how to handle it. "Your blood sugar was low," he offers in explanation. She figures that his confidence in that statement is based on something in the taste of her blood, so she decides not to ask about it. He watches her for a long moment, hesitating before adding, "I didn't realize I'd do so much damage to your neck."

"What, is there something wrong?" she asks, frowning. She reaches a hand to the place automatically, wincing when pain pulses through it.

Oliver doesn't look at her, focusing instead on his own hands. "There's a bruise," he says after a long pause. "I guess didn't seal the bite correctly."

She goes to grab her purse, pulling it over and digging through it for her mirror. A short examination shows it's one _hell_ of a bruise, but at least it doesn't look like the result of a romantic interlude. She shrugs, dropping everything back in her purse. "So long as it doesn't look like a hickey, I'm not complaining," she answers, offering him a small smile. He returns it, but it disappears when she asks, "Does it bother you?" She clears her throat. "The bruise. Does it bother your senses, I mean?"

He appears surprised that she asks so casually, but he doesn't seem to mind answering. "Any blood close to the surface is a challenge," he answers slowly. "It's not a problem when I'm sated, but I pulled just enough from you to heal the wound." His eyes turn very intense. "And it's a risk I'm not willing to take."

She frowns as she takes another bite of ice cream and motions to the sofa. "Learn to live a little, Oliver," she says with a smile. "And besides, if you eat actual food, I would share." She frowns at the amount that's already gone from the carton. "Otherwise I'm going to eat all of this, and I don't need it." She holds up another plastic spoon from the box in an offer.

He hesitates and she fully expects him to say no, but he finally sits next to her, taking the offered spoon and dipping it into the bowl. He takes a bite, seeming to take _way_ too much time to analyze it. She shakes her head at the action, smiling.

His head immediately snaps up to hers with wide eyes, and with slow, calculated movements while holding his breath, he releases her hair from its elastic, pulling it over the bruise. He doesn't say anything, and she doesn't ask because she knows it has something to do with the excess blood under the surface. Not sure what to say in the silence, of course her penchant for babbling kicks in. "Good to know I don't smell bad," she teases, then bites her lip at the expression he throws her, one that makes her feel like an idiot.

"Blood is all the same," he answers dryly, slowly. He brushes the hair away from her neck, pressing his thumb gently against the spot, only applying the least of pressure to it. "But now that I've pulled from you, it's different. Now you smell like my pheromone." Something decidedly carnal enters his eyes, and she has to blush and look away. His hand trails up to touch her jaw.

Just as quickly as he touched her, he pulls away. Shaking his head and frowning, he pulls her hair back over her shoulder to hide the mark. He moves back to the desk chair across from her, dropping the spoon he used in a trash can beforehand. Seconds later, the door opens again, and this time it's Diggle who enters.

The older man analyzes the scene laid out in front of him with observant eyes, reaching into the black duffle bag he carries to throw Oliver another bag of blood. He catches it with ease, starting to drink from it immediately. Felicity decides she can't really watch that while eating ice cream, so she turns toward the computer system, focusing on that instead. "So," she says finally, "if we're all going to work together, that museum piece you call a computer _has_ to go." She smiles, putting down her spoon for a moment. "I hate to make this adventure any more clichéd than it already is—what with the vampires and super-secret underground lairs and superhero costumes—but it's either me or her."

It earns her a short chuckle from Oliver, and a longer one from Diggle. The latter raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms as he leans against the steel gurney Oliver had sat on previously. "So you're in?" he asks.

Felicity nods. "Absolutely. After all," she adds, her eyes flicking to Oliver for a moment, "I've already made an invaluable contribution."

* * *

><p><em>Playlist:<em>

_1. "Lost it All" - Black Veil Brides_  
><em>2. "Break" - Three Days Grace<em>  
><em>3. "The Only Hope for Me is You" - My Chemical Romance<em>  
><em>4. "It's Not Over" - Daughtry<em>  
><em>5. "Right Where You Want Me" - Jesse McCartney<em>  
><em>6. "Oh My!" - Hailey Reinhart feat. B.o.B.<em>  
><em>7. "New Way to Bleed" - Evanescence<em>  
><em>8. "Surrender the Night" - My Chemical Romance<em>  
><em>9. "Waiting on the World to Change" - John Mayer<em>  
><em>10. "Lost in You" - Three Days Grace<em>


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